


We're Like The Stars Scattered Across The Sky

by AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: 6x18 Aftermath, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, dark&twisty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4513248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell/pseuds/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer rubs his aching temples while he bends forward to take a look at the screen and is surprised not only that it's nearly three am, but also to find a scrabble game JJ's obviously playing with someone over the internet.<br/>He looks at the words in the rows out of habit and stops dead in his tracks when he finds a word that's so unknown, Spencer only ever met one person who knew it. Emily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Like The Stars Scattered Across The Sky

**We're Like The Stars Scattered Across The Sky**

**.**

**.**

"I never got the chance to say goodbye."

The words spill from his lips in a voice Spencer Reid doesn't even recognize as his own. Tears blur his vision as he feels JJ embrace him in a hug he is too tired to fight.

The world seems to stand still, the voices of his friends becoming one horrible wail that hurts his ears. He barely notices that JJ makes him sit down, before she's gone all over again.

_Emily._

There's a hand on his arm and a voice calling his name, but Spencer just stares down at his shoes. Tries to fight the pain rising in his chest. A pain so intense that it becomes impossible to breathe.

_Emily._

He watches as the floor comes closer, black dots dancing in front of him. And then there's nothing.

_Emily._

.

He carries her coffin with Morgan, Hotch and Rossi at his side. The BAU Team the only family Emily Prentiss ever had.

He looks up into the blue sky wishing for rain. For cold and for darkness.

He wears his purple scarf, the one Emily had given him for Christmas last year. The one she used to wear on their days off, sitting across from him at the kitchen table. And for a second he can see her sitting there, a mischievous smile playing on her lips before she bends to take the newspaper away from him.

He closes his eyes briefly, tries to concentrate on the smell of her perfume that still lingers in the soft fabric of his scarf. Tries to fight off the image of her body lying motionless in the coffin beside him.

His thoughts drift away, back to the Dilaudid in his jacket pocket and he wishes that he had taken it before coming to the graveyard. Not to flee the pain; to make his heart stop beating.

And even though he knows he shouldn't think like that, knows he shouldn't have it in the first place - it's all he can think about.

Garcia hands him a red rose as soon as they put down the coffin, asks him something and Spencer nods even when he has no idea what she just said. He finds his place among the crowd, keeps staring at the black wooden coffin. Tears welling in his eyes. Thorns stabbing his skin while he tries to listen to the priest.

Emily would have hated it.

A warm hand on his arm makes him look up and meet Morgan's gaze. He realizes that the two of them are the only ones left at the grave.

Spencer blinks, unable to find the strength to listen to what his friend tries to tell him.

And it doesn't matter anyway, nothing does.

Not anymore.

.

They go back to work, but of course it's not the same.

Spencer finds himself staring at the walls for hours, not saying a single word. Not listening to anyone, not caring about anything. Working cases seems impossible to accomplish and he's not sure if he wants to keep trying.

Sometimes he's sure he sees her. Standing outside the FBI building in the parking lot watching him. Hiding in the shadows of his bedroom with a smile on her face. Even in that coffee shop they used to go to, he's sure he spots her sitting at their place in the back.

He catches the scent of her shampoo every time he steps into the elevator, hears her laughter in the silence of his car. Hears her humming a song in the shower when he wakes up in the morning.

It's enough to make him smile and cry at the same time.

He thinks about their first kiss whenever he walks through the door into the bullpen, thinks about that Christmas party four months ago. About the first kiss they shared under the mistletoe in the FBI hallway.

It had started as an innocent and friendly kiss, both of them just tipsy enough to give in to that stupid rite. He remembers how nervous he'd been, remembers his heart beating so loud he'd been sure she would hear it. And maybe she had. It had been Emily who had taken matters into her own hands after all. It had been she who grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, Emily who had kissed him like he hadn't been kissed before. Her cheeks flushed, a hungry glow in her dark eyes.

Her hair had smelled like vanilla that night, her skin soft and warm when he'd cupped her face between his hands to kiss her back. Her small frame pressed tightly against his chest.

He'd taken her home with him, the two of them walking hand in hand though D.C. in the middle of the night. Snowflakes melting in their hair. Her eyes full of love, a look Spencer would never be able to forget.

They hadn't talked that night, not a single word. And they hadn't talked the next morning either. But there had been no need to.

When she'd left that morning, he'd been sure she wouldn't come back. But she had. Night after night.

Looking back it seems like a miracle that no one had seen what was going on between them, but on the other hand, it was the last thing anyone would have ever expected.

Of course he had asked her what was going on when she started to become distant, even when they were alone in the darkness of his apartment. She'd used to silence him with a kiss. Silently begging him to not ask her again.

He wishes he could be mad at her, but he knows she'd only wanted to keep him safe.

 _Him_  more than anyone else would ever know.

.

The whole team keeps looking for Doyle, tries their best to keep Declan safe. Tries to do what Emily would have done.

Life isn't what it used to be and Spencer knows it never will be. He thinks about resigning, about running as far away as possible. But most days he's too tired to even change his shirt.

He sits at his desk, silently staring at the wall and thinking about all the ways he could end Ian Doyle's life. His hand rests against his jacket pocket where he keeps his Dilaudid.

Just knowing that he had it with him made him feel calm enough to keep coming back to work, knowing that Emily was only one step away from him.

He'd never been a believer, never even thought about the possibility of an after-life, not even after his own near-death experience. But now it was all he could hope for, because the thought of never being able to see her again was too painful to live with.

JJ tells him that it's going to hurt less one day. That she knows how he feels. And Spencer only wants to tell her that she doesn't. That she has no idea what she's talking about.

_That she never knew Emily that well anyway._

He hates to admit that he didn't either.

.

It's in the middle of the night when he wakes up on the floor of his living room with no recollection how he got there. His head is pounding, his carpet stained with blood.

He sits up slowly, a hand pressed against his throbbing head. More blood pours from between his fingers. He closes his eyes, fights against the nausea while he fumbles blindly for his phone.

It's not until he hears her voice that he remembers.

_"This is Emily Prentiss, please leave a message."_

For a long time he just sits there, his phone pressed against his ear. Darkness all around him.

The first sob that escapes his lips make his whole body tremble, pain bursting through his skull ruthlessly. He's doubling over a second later, vomiting. Black dots dance in front of his eyes.

He calls her number again and again, tears running down his face. His whole body convulsing, his lungs screaming for air. His heart beating painfully in his chest.

 _"This is Emily Prentiss, please leave a message._ "

And he wishes he could, wishes he could tell her all the things he never had. Wishes he'd told her how much he loved her when he had the chance to do so.

.

A few days later he ends up on the floor again, this time in his bathroom and this time he knows exactly how he got there. He knows he shouldn't have bought that bottle of Scotch, shouldn't have gotten drunk. Not with the drug running though his veins.

He's clutching the porcelain bowl with bloody hands, a silent reminder of his own clumsiness. The broken bottle somewhere beside him, shards of glass mixed with scotch and blood on the white tiles.

When he's sure his stomach has settled, he leans back against the wall. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Allows exhaustion to take over and his eyes fall shut, as he tries his best to ease his breathing. Failing miserably. Thinking that maybe he'd gone too far tonight.

_That he should call for help._

With trembling fingers he manages to get his phone from his pants, just to stare down at the buttons like he'd never seen them before.

The truth is he doesn't want anyone to see him. Doesn't want anyone to know how badly he's dealing with Emily's death. He's not interested in being sent off to the psych ward like his mother.

He closes his eyes, types  _her_  number without looking. Listens to her voicemail, answering his call.

_"This is Emily Prentiss, please leave a message."_

And this time he does, tells her what he wanted to tell her for so long. Hoping that wherever she is, she can hear him whisper.

_I love you, Emily. I love you._

.

It's JJ who finds the Dilaudid in his jacket pocket, JJ who grabs him and shoves him into her office. Looking more furious than he'd ever seen her.

She makes him sit down in front of her desk before she starts yelling at him. Asks him if he's lost his mind. If he thinks that Emily would have wanted  _this._

Spencer wants to tell her yes, that he's lost his mind. That Emily is dead and gone and that it didn't matter what she would have wanted because she wasn't there. But he doesn't.

He just shrugs and tells her he hadn't taken anything. That there is no reason for JJ to worry, even though he knows that she knows it's a lie.

For a second the blonde looks like she's about to say something, but in the end she doesn't. Only takes the drugs with her before she leaves him sitting in her office by himself.

He meets his dealer after work, gets himself more Dilaudid than the last time. Heads off to a bar to get drunk afterwards. Thinks that tonight he's going to end it.

He drinks until the room starts spinning and his head begins to hurt. Scolds himself for not having taken the drug before, his eye lids too heavy to keep them open. He's sure he hears Emily's voice saying his name before everything goes dark.

When he opens his eyes he finds himself lying on the couch in JJ's living room. His clothes wrinkled, his shirt stained with something he fears is vomit.

Scolding himself he tries to remember how he ended up on that couch. Wonders if he called her himself, wonders if she had Garcia track down his phone. Makes himself a mental note to leave his phone at home from now on.

He turns his head to find the room empty, the faint glow of a notebook on the table the only thing that tells him he hadn't been alone for long.

With his hand on the armrest he manages to sit up, already searching his brain for an excuse to explain his behavior to JJ without her taking him to a hospital.

He rubs his aching temples while he bends forward to take a look at the screen and is surprised not only that it's nearly three am, but also to find a scrabble game JJ's obviously playing with someone over the internet.

He looks at the words in the rows out of habit and stops dead in his tracks when he finds a word that's so unknown, Spencer only ever met one person who knew it.

A word  _she_ used everytime he'd played scrabble with her.

_Emily._

.

He asks JJ to drive him to a meeting first thing in the morning. Tells her to throw away the Dilaudid. She looks relieved and Spencer pushes himself to thank her for letting him stay the night.

He doesn't ask her how she found him, doesn't want to know anyway. His mind reeling.

He knows he can't just ask her about what he'd seen on her notebook, can't ask her if she's playing online games with the dead. Can't ask her if Emily's still alive.

_Not if he doesn't want to end up in a strait jacket._

He knows it's maybe just his mind playing tricks on him, knows it's just a small dawn of hope. But he can't help thinking that suddenly everything seems to make sense.

The looks he had seen JJ share with Hotch, the two of them talking in the office behind closed doors. The reason Spencer hadn't been allowed to go to the morgue that night in the hospital.  _Or anyone else for that matter._

Now that he knows what he's looking for he finds inconsistencies everywhere he looks. Things he could have seen before, but in his grief, his mind high on drugs he hadn't been able to.

It takes him a while to hack into JJ's notebook; after all he can't just go and ask Garcia to do it for him. But in the end he succeeds and he's proud of himself when he finds out that the person JJ had been playing for months with, is someone in Paris.

And just like that  _he knows._

Remembers Emily telling him about Paris, about how much she wished she could live there. Her promise to take him to Europe someday, to show him all the places she loved. Her attempts to teach him some French.

He leaves Hotch a massage that he needs a few weeks off before he heads to the airport. His phone carelessly stuffed away in his desk drawer at the office.

.

It's a cold and rainy day when he finds her. Hiding in an alley, he watches the motel from across the street. His hands shoved down in his pockets. His dirty blonde hair wet and sticking to his forehead. His gaze locked on the window he now knows belongs to her room.

_Emily._

For a second he allows himself to close his eyes, allows the betrayal he knows he has no right to feel, consume him. He knows there is no time to dwell in his own hurt feelings, knows they only did what they thought had been the right thing to do.

He still couldn't help but be angry -  _no, not just angry-_  but furious. With JJ and Hotch as well as Emily. The pain in his chest burning, his blood screaming for Dilaudid.

He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to forgive either of them. Wasn't even sure if he would be able to forgive  _her._ He still couldn't see the point in faking Emily's death, letting her friends mourn for months - just to end up playing online games.

They'd left enough traces all over the web - _and even though it had been really difficult to accomplish, even for a genius like Spencer -_  he'd found her after all.

And if he could find her, than so could Doyle. It was only a matter of time.

He sinks back further away into the darkness, tries to shield himself from the rain as best as possible. His hands still hidden in his pockets.

It had taken him a few days to track her down, a few days to find out where she was staying. And another day to make sure it was really her. And he still felt shaken just thinking about that moment he'd seen her for the first time in months just a few hours ago.

He'd been lurking in the shadows just like he does now, when he'd seen her walking down the street. He'd been taken aback even though it had been exactly what he'd been waiting for. With wide eyes he'd watched her disappear through the doors into the motel, unable to move.

He'd left shortly after, going back to his own motel to calm himself down. Take his time to think of the right thing to say. He still hadn't come up with anything useful when he came back to his hiding place. And he still hasn't come up with anything when she finally steps out onto the street around midnight.

She's wearing a black coat, hood up to shield herself from the rain. For a second Spencer doesn't dare to breathe, afraid she might spot him right away, but to his relief she doesn't even look up before she hurries down the street.

He follows her slowly, never getting too close for her to notice, but never leaving her out of sight either. Watches from a safe distance while she walks up to a nightclub, watches her disappear through the double doors with a casual wink at the bouncer.

He waits for a couple of minutes before he goes after her, flashes his FBI badge at the man on the door. To his surprise the man barely takes a look before he shrugs and motions for him to go in.

The place is crowded, music blaring from the speakers, people dancing everywhere and it takes him a while until he spots her on the dancefloor. When he does he's lost at the sight in front of him.

Her face looks paler in the sparkling light of the club, paler but as flawless as ever. The black dress she wears barely covers her skin, while every move she makes seems to be even more graceful than the other.

Black curls are falling in her face, caressing her cheeks. Making her look even more beautiful -  _and pretty much alive._

He keeps watching while she takes a sip from the glass in her hand, keeps watching while she dances with a young woman and then with an older guy and yet another woman. He's never seen her look more lonely.

He makes his way towards her until he's in arms reach. Watches her spin around with closed eyes, a sad smile playing on her lips. And without thinking twice he steps forward to pull her close against his chest, his arms coming close around her waist.

She says something he can't make out because of the music before she opens her eyes- and the world stops turning.

He catches her glass with his free hand before it can hit the floor, watches her eyes go wide in surprise and panic. Her lips moving but making no sound.

He wants to tell her a million things, wants to scream and shout and shake her. Wants to kiss her, kiss her like he hasn't done before. Wants to ask her if she'd lost her mind, how she could hurt him like that. _Wants to ask her to marry him._

But he says nothing, starts dancing with her instead. Moves her with him. Enjoys the feeling of her body against his while he sways her over the dancefloor like he'd done a million times before. And he had, countless times, the two of them dancing until sunrise in his apartment.

He puts her glass down on an empty table as soon as he has the chance to, pulls her close and closer until the familiar scent of vanilla hits his nostrils and he's lost in a time he thought he'd never get back again.

It's then that her arms come close around him, her hands on his back as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. Her hot breath sending shivers down his spine. And he holds her still, her warm body pressed against his. Wishing they could stay like that forever.

He already knows there was a hell of a conversation waiting for them, a hell of a conversation waiting for him back home as well. But maybe he wouldn't go back in the first place. Maybe there was no point in going back for either of them.

Maybe they could just stay where they were.

_Together._

Forever.

.

"I love you," he hears her whisper into the darkness only a few hours later. The two of them lying side by side in her motel bed, their limbs tangled between the sheets. "I love you, Spencer."

Her voice is thick with exhaustion and he knows she's already on the verge of falling asleep. Her head resting on his bare chest, her dark curls around her like a halo.

With a smile on his lips he pulls her closer, kisses her temple before he takes her hand into his own. Determined to never let go.

"I love you too," he breathes softly into her ear. "I love you too, Emily."

.

(In the end that was all that really mattered.)

**.**

**.**


End file.
